Miracle's Boys Read Free Page A

Ty‘ree says this woman had been jogging around the lake near where Daddy was. She was jogging with her dog when the dog decided to take off after a bird. The lake was frozen, so I guess the dog just figured it could run straight across. But right in the middle the ice started cracking away, and the dog went under. Daddy looked up to see the screaming lady running after the dog—saw the dog way out, bobbing in and out of the water. Ty’ree says Daddy pulled the lady out first, then the dog. The dog and the lady lived, but my daddy died of hypothermia.
    â€œHe went out stupid,” Newcharlie always says now. “Saving a dog and a white woman is a stupid way to die. Only thing in the world you need to save is your own self.”
    â€œYou used to want to save stray animals,” I remind Newcharlie. “You used to pray to St. Francis.”
    How do I do it, Cha? I’d asked that first night a long time ago, the night he told me about St. Francis.
    Charlie sat up in his bed and put his hands together under his chin. Like this. “Dear Lord and St. Francis of Assisi. Me and my brother know you both love animals as much as we do. We know how you saved that dog that was drowning in Central Park. You sent our daddy in there. We’re not mad about it or anything. Not anymore. We don’t have another daddy, but there’s a lot of other animals need saving. So please don’t let none get killed by starving or freezing to death in the cold. Don’t let none get hit by cars or beat up by stupid kids. Just let them all have food and someplace warm. And if you could, could you please give dogs nine lives the same as cats?”
    And turtles too, I added. Please.
    Turtles too, Charlie said. Amen.
    Amen, I whispered.
    Charlie unclasped his hands and lay back on the bed. Now watch, he said. When you dream, it’s gonna be full of happy animals.
    He was right.
    But that was a long long time ago. Back when we were a family. Back before Rahway and Mama dying. Back before ... before Charlie became somebody else.
    â€œI never cared about no dogs,” Newcharlie says. But he doesn’t look at me when he says it, because he knows I know he’s lying.
    All we got now is one other brother—Ty‘ree. Ty’ree’s just the opposite of Newcharlie. He’ll tell you in a minute he’s got a soft spot for me and don’t care what people say about it. Newcharlie would never call me Lala in front of Ty‘ree. He just knows better. People who knew Mama say if Ty’ree was a woman, he’d be her twin, even though two people made him, he’s all Milagro’s child. Milagro was my mama. Her name means “miracle” in Spanish, and maybe it was a miracle that she had a demon-seed son like Newcharlie.
    Mama was born in Bayamón—that’s in Puerto Rico—but her family came here when she was real little. I can only speak a little bit of Spanish, because Mama used to say it was better if we learned good English. But I’m taking Spanish now. Figure if I learn to speak Mama’s language, I’ll have a little bit more of her to hold on to.
    My great-aunt Cecile’s all the time saying dead don’t have to mean dead and gone, and I like to believe that. I got two scratched-up pictures of Mama left. One of the pictures is of me and her outside on the stoop. Mama’s sitting and I’m standing bending over her to show her something I got in my hand. Mama’s wearing a light-blue dress and she has her hair out so that it’s all curly around her shoulders. In the picture she’s smiling at the thing I’m showing her like she’s real proud. I look real close at that picture all the time, but I still can’t remember what it was I was showing her. The other picture’s of me and Charlie and Mama. We’re all dressed up and smiling. Maybe it was Easter. Mama has her arms around me and Charlie’s shoulders. We both